


He Wanted Time, She Wanted Space

by zephyr42



Category: The Cross-Time Adventures of Colonel Tick-Tock - Fandom, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Awesome Ladies Being Awesome, but somewhere in between, not quite magic, not quite steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:17:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyr42/pseuds/zephyr42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constance has more going on in her life than being a sweet, calm cover for her husband's cross-time adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Explorations & Excursions

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to Glorious_Clio for all her beta-ing, editing, and feedback!

When they married, he told her they had all the time in the world. That was only partially true. He’d travel for days at a time, but when he recounted tales over dinner parties she began to discover the holes. Months in his memory appeared, years passed while she took afternoon tea. The gray in his beard came in when she was barely twenty-five. People began to whisper about his absences, and what a pity it was that she had no children to comfort her. Her marriage had grown imbalanced and off-kilter; she began to explore her own space. Discovering odd corners of the city and its surrounding area. Tchotchke shops in Camden Yards that sold items beyond sentimental value, shopowners on Portobello Road who smiled at her through their spectacles and pulled creased blueprints from their desks. She spoke with travelers and tradesmen in the dark of Covent Garden who came from across the world over. The purchases she made were small at first - things that could be put away swiftly or hidden beneath her sewing table. Over time, the attic of her home came alive with whirring, sputtering, and sparks.

Constance hid the oil stains on her hands from her husband with fine gloves and pleaded a headache when her ears rang through dinner. When his trick-clock went silent she took it to her own workbench late at night and took it apart, gently resetting the cogs and aligning the inner crystal so it hummed sweetly once more. It was rather a dear thing, and she told it so. Her husband never asked where she took the piece to be fixed, but the next time he returned from a voyage she found pages left in the open with hastily-copied formulae in his writing covering their surface. He began to leave books on tables with strange bindings and smooth pages. When she asked where they came from, he shrugged a shoulder and gave a puff on his pipe. “Picked them up here and there, you know. Thought of them as curiosities that you might like to look at.” His eyes flickered to hers as he pointedly buffed the face of his trick-clock on a sleeve. The corner of his mustache twitched tersely and she responded with something saccharine and thoughtful and not completely untrue. He breathed a little easier and gave her a fond wink.

When her husband gently suggested she visit the country for some fresh air, she retreated to their country house. The old barn on the property suited her purpose nicely. She opened the doors and had the roof modified so that it slid open on ball bearings, letting in light and the open sky as the weather permitted. Her research sped up rapidly, and when she began to spend days without receiving company at the main house she gathered a reputation as an eccentric invalid. Upon hearing this she made a point to host a dinner and occasionally see close friends to stave off intrusions and delays to her projects. When her friends asked how she spent her days she spoke fondly of horse riding and picnics on the island in the center of the lake on the estate. She said nothing of her aching back and the thick burn healing on her inside of her right knee. Her nails were now trimmed short, her fingertips callused.

On nights when she could not sleep she would lay in the center of the barn and let her creations whirr around her, moving the heavy air and calming her mind. The rains pounded against the roof. She left the leather apron on its hook and reached for her pencil.

The first creations were toys, small curiosities that clicked and moved like circus tricks. A small frog that opened its mouth and did flips, a dog that wagged its tail. Some were less successful, like the doll that let loose a cloud of scalding steam instead of a cry for milk. That one was quickly dissembled but it still gave Constance no few nightmares over the course of the week. Satisfied with her progress over the summer, she returned to London with her blueprints and some boxes of small scraps and tools to keep her busy.

The winter season was full of social events and fortunately fashionable long sleeves. Her summer illness passed, she took tea and absently knit her blueprint patterns into scarves. When her husband returned from his trips he kissed her cheek and silently handed her books with strange bookmarks. One of the scribbles sparked something in her mind and she immediately excused herself to the attic. That revelation cost her days and countless apologies at functions, but her husband made appropriate excuses and had meals left outside the door.

Spring brought with it excursions and large country dinners. The Colonel invited some of the men and their families at the local airbase for dinner, and afterward the table was filled with raucous laughter and cigar smoke. The women moved to the parlor and began their games. Constance found some comfort in these times, when her muscles didn’t ache and her arms were free from burns. The scars remained but were easily covered with light airy sleeves and complaints of a harsh sun. The unmarried daughter of one of the engineers bumped into a side table, causing one of the colonel’s gifts to fall to the floor and the papers to spill out. As Constance rushed to clean up the mess, the woman stared transfixed at a sheet of numbers and graphs.

“I’m so sorry, I’m afraid my husband leaves his work around in odd places.” She smiled and extended a hand for the paper. The other woman smiled politely and handed it back.

“Of course. He might want to reconsider the last portion on forward momentum. It looks as if he’s trying to go  _ up _ rather than  _ over _ .”

Constance laughed gaily as she slipped the paper back into the book and tucked the volume securely under her arm. “How very odd! Very odd indeed.”

The next week, the other woman appeared at the front door in a loud sputtering automobile, carrying a bundle of papers and marched out to the barn. The door shuddered open and she found Constance underneath a contraption, swearing loudly at her sudden exposure and trying to pull herself out.

“You know, it’s a lot easier if you make a creeper. Keeps you clean longer, too.” Faith grinned and waved a roll of paper. “I’ll share if you will.” She spread out the oversized sheet of paper on the workbench and began to assemble parts. A creeper, as it turned out, was an ingenious wheeled board to lay on for easy horizontal movement. They made two and had small competitions as to who could wheel across the floor faster. Faith usually won.

The work began.


	2. Advancements

Having an alibi made the summer easier. Having a partner made the work easier, too, and it went far faster. Faith was a skilled mechanic and engineer, and her knowledge melded well with Constance’s drive for innovation. Together, the toys they made grew in size and functionality until there were flying machines haphazardly blasting through the open roof. Sometimes the contraptions went rogue and the women had to chase after them with a net until they could be wrestled to the ground. More than once the two had to wade into the lake to retrieve a failed experiment and lay on the shore to dry off after. The summer passed in a slow idyllic haze, and Constance was sad to return to London.

Getting work done in her attic room was next to impossible, so she returned to drafting and theoretical experiments. Correspondence flew between she and Faith and each letter carried with it small advances and revelations that kept her mind reeling throughout the day. Sometimes the changes she made to her notes were small tweaks and improvements, others were broad concepts for future projects. Faith was able to enact and test the changes Constance made and send back revisions, but after a while the revisions and changes began to anticipate each other, creating a difficult workflow. One day a package arrived from the country. A medium-sized crate about the size of a travel trunk filled with straw and curious packages wrapped in brown paper.

 

_ My dear Constance, _

_ I hope you understand that writing is moving too slow. Let’s try this instead. _

_ Yours, etc. _

_ Faith _

 

Constance spent the evening assembling the contraption and swearing as she burnt her fingers soldering the pieces together. What resulted was not unlike the victrola in the parlor. The main difference was a small mouthpiece that rose from the opposite side of the horn, and between the two was a single crystal which hummed as it spun steadily, suspended on a beam of light, sending rainbows of light across the darkened attic. The machine didn’t hiss as many of Constance’s inventions did, but rather it sighed softly as if it breathed. She felt a little less alone, suddenly.

“Constance? Is this working?”

The woman jumped as the crystal pulsed green and the voice of her friend filled the air. Then she laughed for what felt like the first time in an age. She leaned in and spoke hesitantly into the mouthpiece.

“Yes! I think it is. Is it?” The gem changed to the warm blue of the summer sky.

“It sure is!” The smugness in Faith’s voice was unmistakable even without being able to see the smirk that Constance knew was hovering over her companion’s face. “Okay,” the victrola gave a breathless laugh, “Let’s get back to work.”

The next contraption was one that Faith had to test in the open fields under cover of dark, and Constance waited anxiously at the horn the following morning. She still wore her nightclothes, her short hair pulled away from her face with a ribbon. It seemed an eternity before she heard Faith’s voice spark in the silence.

_ "Connie, are you there?”  _ She sounded frantic, excited.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here. What happened?” Her breath stopped just short of leaving her lips.

“Well, it certainly went higher than we expected! I think with some recalculations we can putting in orders for the big one. Maybe we’ll be ready to put it together next summer and run some tests.”

Constance smiled, letting her breath out as slowly as she was able. She wrote furiously on her notepad, her mind spinning. “Right, so let’s start with those recalculations and start making lists.”

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“We might consider finding a third person,” Faith paused before admitting, “Neither of us know much about navigation.”

“Ah. Yes, you’re right at that. We’ve got a few years, but yes that’s something we need to start considering soon.”

For the first time, the work fell into a steady rhythm of tests, adjustments, and more tests. What had been somewhat haphazard experimentation became earnest engineering, and the late nights at work became all-night sessions for Constance to have revisions ready for Faith’s tests.


	3. Assistance

The colonel arrived home a few Thursdays later than expected to find his wife taking tea while working in the parlor. She hardly noticed when he arrived, and only realized the amount of time that passed when he apologized for the state of his attire. “The clock, I’m afraid, may need some retuning. It didn’t seem to like this last trip.” He patted out some light scorchmarks on his cuffs and took the timepiece from its pocket and tapped its silent face to no effect.

Constance wrote a single line in her notebook and turned it around for her husband to read. May we speak plainly now? “How very odd! Perhaps it simply needs to rest. You’ve been gone for so long lately. Shall I call Mary for another placesetting for tea?” Her voice was affectionate and even, certainly not reflecting her sleepless nights.

He raised a single finger and gave her a meanginful look. “I think I’ll go upstairs and freshen up. I’ll be back shortly to join you for tea.” He removed his gloves to lean down and give her a soft kiss on the forehead, gently patting her shoulder before leaving the room.

When he came back minutes later, he looked a little less disheveled. His beard was once again combed and smooth, and his slippers betrayed his tiredness. “Now, I think, we can speak frankly.” He let out a long sigh and sat across from her at the plate of sandwiches. The look on his face was one of longing and comfort. “My darling, you’ve no idea how much I’ve missed butter.”

They sat in silence for a while as he ate and she finished an adjustment.

“We have a problem and could use some help.” She admitted reluctantly. His eyebrows rose and the monocle in his right eye threatened to topple.

“Help? I’m not sure precisely what I have to offer, but of course it’s yours.” He forgot his manners momentarily and licked his fingers. “Did you know tomatoes are a recent development in England?”

“Yes, dear. I believe you brought me that book on cultivation practices in March, remember? Had some lovely theories on how to best grow them in low-oxygen atmospheres. Which brings me to the question. Do you know anyone who would be knowledgeable about navigation? Using stars, preferably. And used to long trips away from home.”

He thought for a moment. “I can see things have accelerated a bit since we spoke last.” Constance poured him another cup of tea and he nodded in thanks. “Yes, I think I might know someone. But darling, you know this means a displacement. It might work in this case due to her circumstances, but…” His mouth twitched downward. “This means your trip might have to be a long one. A very long one, indeed. Are you prepared for that?”

She gazed at him steadily but not unkindly. “We are. Are you?” The question hung in the air, and the colonel stroked at his graying sideburns.

“I suppose that question isn’t one that really matters, is it?” He smiled a sad smile. “I know things haven’t really been as they ought, but our time together has been its own kind of happy, hasn’t it?”

“We have been as happy as we could have ever been, I think. Which is not something many couples can say.” She took his hand across the table. “I could not have asked for a better support to my adventures. I hope I’ve been one to yours, too.”

His eyes shone with the beginning of tears. “Of course you have, my darling. Not many women would have put up with my odd trips and escapades. I’m grateful you stayed instead of going back to your family. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”

Constance laughed warmly and passed him a handkerchief. “If I’d gone home, I could never have accomplished what I have here. It would have been miserable.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “You know, I never thought that I’d enjoy being so independent in a marriage. I always thought it was supposed to be something else.” He nodded in agreement. “I thought I’d lose myself, but it turns out I’ve found myself instead.”

“Sometimes I feel guilty for feeling that way, myself.” He squeezed her hand and released it to pour her a fresh cup of tea. One sugar and cream, just as she liked it best. “You’ve been the best wife I could have hoped for.”

They smiled at each other, and everything was alright.


End file.
